Slytherin Jewels
by Moirae333
Summary: Molly x Tom AU. Although this event lends nothing to the fearsome Lord Voldemort the wizarding world knew in the twentieth century, Tom Marvolo Riddle had one love in his life, a passionate girl with fiery red hair.


**Title: **Slytherin Jewels

**Writer: **Moirae

**Rating: **PG

**Genre: **Grey Romance

**Spoilers:** Philosopher's Stone to Order of the Phoenix.

**Period: **1942 (Tom Riddle's sixth year)

**Pairings:** Tom Riddle/Molly Prewett

**Summary: **Although this event lends nothing to the fearsome Lord Voldemort the wizarding world knew in the twentieth century, Tom Marvolo Riddle had one love in his life--a passionate girl with fiery red hair.

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The plot, however, is created by the writer and is not to be replicated by another.

**Writer's Notes: **This story was written the summer after OotP came out and therefore technically disregards Half-Blood Prince. Thanks to Lady Hemlock and Ergo for the beta job.

**Slytherin Jewels**

_a molly/tom sketch_

Sandstone corridors are dank in his memories now; they no longer symbolise majesty and decency. Misty shadows cast their darkness over stone and threshold--the boundless entrance hall of the Chamber of Secrets looms before his sapphire eyes. Tom Marvolo Riddle enters Slytherin's immeasurable hollow with a stoic stride, his eyes momentarily flashing ruby.

Torches blaze from the walls of the ancient chamber; they secrete their natural light over Tom's ebony boots and jade Slytherin robes. Spiders skitter across the igneous rock, away from the seventeen-year-old. Miniscule threads of silver web garnish the corners of the ceiling, and with the flick of a fine-boned hand, they erupt in a topaz inferno. The frosty air reeks strongly of brimstone and rot; Tom inhales it intensely, appreciatively, letting the stench wash impurities from his lungs and blood.

A statue of Salazar Slytherin is impressed into the igneous of the southern quadrant of the subversive depression. Sitting upon the domed marble of Slytherin's clavicle is a young witch in garnet robes, her head cocked slightly to the side, and a lone snake slithers its way across her slender shoulders.

Tom's smile radiates to his lover of the Gryffindor dynasty.

"I thought you weren't going to grace me with your presence, Sir Riddle," she jokes, leaping down from the sculpture to land with a lion-like grace. She flips her bountiful curls over her shoulder, her amber eyes blinking with exuberance.

Tom mocks a bow. "My word is my honour, milady."

The young girl giggles, her cheeks flushing apple. She runs her fingers frivolously across her full lips, and Tom glimmers at the blood stains spoiling them, longs to press them to his tongue and suck the stains away. He steps toward her.

"Miss Gryffindor," he addresses, bowing at the waist once more. He steals her hand within his own, bringing it to his thin lips, pressing them to the smooth skin of her backhand. He whispers a command of magic and the blood marks, which only his eyes can appreciate, disappear. They were never there; after all, it was a deception of power.

He glimpses up into her eyes, a small smirk yanking at the corners of his lips when approval sparks in the amber tarns. Tom straightens.

The sixteen-year-old softly takes her hand from his--the snake upon her shoulders hisses, his coral tongue flipping at the master in front of him. Tom scowls at the adder as he reaches out to grasp it, undaunted by the poisonous venom. The adder slithers down his arm, Tom releases it onto the ground and it slinks away into the shade to be with ivory flashes of light.

Tom takes the short girl in his arms; he runs his hand through her curls as she rests her head upon his chest, listening closely to his caroming heart.

"Tom?"

"Yes?"

"Will we be together forever?" she asks.

Tom appears to consider this for a moment, and he presses his lips to her freckled forehead, his hand walking along the spine of her back. "No," he replies steadily and holds her tighter as she tries to push him away. "Forever is a very long time, milady. It is a place where you cannot follow me, not any longer. Nor would I wish you too. That blighter little boy is whom you will spend forever with. That Weasley and his inane inventions he creates during _History_. Our paths will not cross again, that is, 'til after I've taken your only daughter, the youngest of seven children your wide hips will bear."

The girl's mouth drops with astonishment. "What are you talking about, Tommy?"

Tom sighs; his hand leaves her back to cradle her head. "Nothing, Molly. We are, in spite of everything, slaves to a fate we cannot retch ourselves from, cannot change and mould to our own benefits. Come, I have something I must show you. Something you will shortly leave me for." He kisses her before leading her into the darkness of the chamber, to where seven robes figures stand, each bejewelled with moonstone masks. They stand strictly at attention, watching the exchange between their master and the only woman he could ever love, knowing that, although she loves him back, Tom's path is dark. She is not destined to follow.


End file.
